
LIBRARY OF CONGRESS, 

Chap. Copyright No. 

Shelf_Jd3: 3 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



MAR 7 1898 

SO/nE PHILOSOPHY 

OF THE 

HERMETICS 
/ 



ISSUED BY AUTHORITY OF THE 



M 



There are some who will see and seeing will perceive, 
others bearing will understand. 



B. R. BAUMGARDT & CO. 

PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS, 

LOS ANGELF.S, CAL. 



•3- 



C %s 



■Jf" 



o o q ( .r 



COPYRIGHT, 1898, by D. P. HATCH 

OF 

I,os Angeles, Cal. 



All rights reserved. 



LOS ANGELES, CAL.: 

B. R. BAUMGARDT & CO. 

231 W. FIRST ST. 



NEW YORK: 

THE METAPHYSICAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 

465 FIFTH AVE. 



CONTENTS. 



PAGE 

Preface . 5 

Hermetics .. 7 

Philosophy 9 

Faith 13 

Concentration 18 

Practice . 22 

Memory....... ..> 26 

Imagination 31 

The Book of Revelation 37 

Pride and Philosophy 41 

Who Are the Cranks? 47 

One Day 53 

Secret Grief ,. 56 

Cold Despahi , 61 

Beauty — Art— Power 65 

Spirits and Devils , , 70 

Death— What of It? 73 

Nature's Jest 79 

Your Friend 83 

The One Thing 86 

The Devil 90 

The Pairs . 94 

Adonai \ 98 

Magic ... .\ 103 



tfL... 



PREFACE. 

Nature has a way of concealing and 
revealing. She tells half her story out in 
the sunshine in a loud voice, and the other 
half in whispers underground. 

She is coy like a coquette, and stern like 
a judge. She excites curiosity in the 
student, and dread in the debauchee. 

She holds the man of science to her 
breast, but is dumb to the lover of pleasure. 
She scorns the victim of priestcraft and 
repudiates the supernatural. The Sage 
takes his cue from his mother; like Nature, 
he conceals and reveals. He who would 
see other than the smiling, scowling face 
of Hermes must search the dark places 
by the light of his own candle ; Hermes 
locks the gate between the outer and inner 



Temple ; and he, only, enters the latter, 
who has the pass word and the key. 

In reading this book please notice how 
the essays vary in style; some of them 
falling into a weird rhapsody, others laconic 
and plain — The Mystic will understand the 
reason of the difference, while another will 
peruse only the words. 

The barbaric splendor of Nature reveals 
truth and law as surely as does her terrible 
logic. She speaks in poetry and in prose. 
Facts are rarely ever naked, but often not 
only draped but masked. The occult eye 
sees straight to the heart of a fact, while 
the normal lens dwells on the habiliments. 

Enough has been said save this — Man 
inevitably cometh unto his own. 



E 



THE HERMETICS. 



Who were they ? What are they ? They 
were those who could speak or keep silent. 
They are those who whisper or shout. They 
believe in silver and gold. " If speech is 
silver silence is gold." They believe in the 
conservation of energy, and its transforma- 
tion. They believe in the Unit and in the 
many — the special and the general. They 
have found the Philosopher's stone — the 
elixir of life. They catch glimpses of Eldo- 
rado — the promised land. They know time 
and realize eternity. They comprehend 
distance and space. They circumscribe the 
square with the circle, and death with life. 
They teach an eternity of being, and an 
endless variety of form. They wed involu- 
tion to evolution, and yesterday to tomor- 
row. They insist on object as the mirror 






of subject, and consciousness as the child of 
the two. They hold that Nirvana is poise 
— a motionless motion — the paradox of 
being. 

To find the Hermetic out of Thibet is to 
discover him next door. He is as likely to 
be in broadcloth as in adept's robe — and as 
possible in London as in Benares. He is 
rare. Gold is not picked up without stoop- 
ing, nor the fountain head discovered with- 
out*searching. Swine are about and pearls 
are treasured. 

Enough, save this — The false implies the 
true. — Chaos, order. — The word, secrecy. — 
" The one thing, many." 



PHILOSOPHY. 



With your heart filled with emotions, 
your head stormy with thought; with your 
back on the years behind you, facing the 
years ahead — you, a man, stand trembling 
with the consciousness of self, and wonder 
what next. 

Philosophy ! ah me ! Philosophy ! When 
the heart beats to the tune of love, or your 
brain throbs with a master-passion — Philoso- 
phy ! you plunge headlong into life as the 
comet into space-living-living-living-only 
living. 

Philosophy ! What need have you ? Your 
blood surges up to your heart and on to your 
head — you feel, you think — Philosophy ! 
Life is for life, you say — Philosophy ! but- 
but-you hav'nt it-life, only a shiver of it- 
only a thrill of it. 



io SOME PHILOSOPHY 

Philosophy brings it-life. She is beauti- 
ful — she carries a cup in her hand — it is 
gold; she begs you to drink and live. She is 
your hand-maiden — Philosophy — the cup is 
pure metal — the drink is elixir — life. As 
man, you are mortal; you have stood in the 
sunshine so long you are blind. As man, 
you are drunk with a drop of pure life; 
you have listened so long to the seas, you 
are deaf. Philosophy brings you the cup and 
you drink, and you open your eyes; she waits 
— and you listen and hear — what — what do 
you see — do you hear? 

Yourself— -in the sun, in the sea — your- 
self in the sky, in the air — yourself in the 
winds, in the stars — yourself in the depths, 
in the heights — yourself in the distance — 
yourself nearer home — yourself in the open 
— yourself in the closed — yourself in the 
seen and unseen — yourself everywhere; 
yourself in her eyes — Philosophy's eyes — 
yourself in her voice — Philosophy's voice — 
yourself in the speech of the beasts, in the 
song of the birds, the rustling of leaves; in 
nothing, in something, in naught and in all; 



OF THE HER ME TICS 



in negative, positive, neither and both; in 
you and in other, in other and you. 

Life! — inward and outward, receding ad- 
vancing, coming and going — Life / Feeling 
is feeling — thinking is thinking — Life/ 
Sleeping is sleeping — waking is waking — 
Life I Living is living — dying is d}dng — 
Life / 

Open the windows and breathe the fresh 
air — open the windows and look at the sky 
— open the windows and feel the soft rain — 
breathe — breathe — breathe full to the chest 
— breathe. 

I've traveled the spaces by thinking — I've 
mounted the zenith by wishing — I've floated 
in air by a longing — I've melted in mist 
when a dreaming — I have flashed in the fire 
by desiring — I have blended in water by 
looking — I have entered a soul by aspiring. 
I am many or one — I am one or the many. 

Each day is mine own not anothers; each 
day is all days, all days are each day. 

I floated in blood in the veins of a bird, 
and beat in his heart to the tune of his wings; 
I sucked at the breast of a flower and dripped 



SOME PHILOSOPHY 



in the honey of bees; I spun the fine silk of 
a web, and tied up the knots of a snare; I 
have lain in the arms of a cloud and turned 
up my face to the sky; I died and entered 
the tomb, and rotted away in a corpse; I 
crawled through the pores of the earth in the 
succulent bodies of worms, and buried myself 
in the mire to shiver with cold in a stone. 
Ah ! Life and Philosophy ! Wisdom and 
Life! 

Do you ask me the reason of all, I give 
you the reason of none; do you ask me the 
reason of none, I give you the wisdom of all. 

You burn with desire and you thrill; 
then dip in the blood of yourself and write 
on the parchment a scroll, and read in the 
letters the words, and read in the words the 
command, and in the command the design, 
and in the design, the beginning and end; 
and living you read, and reading you live; 
and cease to be mortal, but soar as a god. 

If ever the bush is on fire harken for 
language and hear; something is speaking — 
listen and listen — something is shining — 
the bush is on fire. 



OF THE HERMETICS 13 



FAITH. 



We will present the subject of faith in a 
secondary aspect, and show you how to 
make out of it a mighty lever towards 
accomplishing results. We advise you 
to be alert, and in a certain sense skep- 
tical in all save the principle upon which 
you found your premise. 

Take as a starting point yourself, for it is 
not necessary to travel far from home in 
order to find a subject on which to work. 
Believing in your existence, a priori, and 
resting upon the fundamental consciousness 
of the Ego, suppose you branch out into 
a series of unusual experiments as to what 
the possibilities of that Ego are. 

Most people find certain dominant tend- 
encies uppermost, and are entirely satisfied 
to develop and live by them, never striving 



i 4 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

to discover hidden mines within themselves 
along lines where they have not taken the 
trouble to penetrate. 

If you see a leaf floating on the wave at 
sea, you have some reason to think that 
land is near. May it not be possible that 
some indication as small as a leaf, floats 
round on the sea of your being, and you 
have failed to draw any conclusion from it. 
The mariner discovers the bit of green, and 
makes for the shore ; you discover the sign 
of unseen things and sail out into deeper 
waters. 

The lesson we would teach is this, observe 
the signs, no matter how insignificant ; let 
them create in you a sort of conditional 
faith ; follow them up and see what you will 
discover. 

The scientist is well used to this condi- 
tional faith ; it is not absolute faith, but a 
suspension of judgment, an abandonment of 
prejudice, and a simple research based upon 
indications. When the miner strikes a sign 
of color, a certain faith is developed in him; 
it is conditional of course ; it is based on 



OF THE HERMETICS 15 



possibility, not on probability. It is quite a 
different thing from a man's faith in gravi- 
tation or repulsion. It is what might be 
called a blind faith ; and the only excuse for 
its being is that in time, it will develop into 
a certainty or fall through altogether, in 
other words prove itself. 

Suppose for instance, you find at some 
one time, that you have seen clairvoyantly, 
treat that as the leaf on the sea of your 
being ; follow it up, and be not astonished 
if you land on the shore of an unknown 
country. Your faith which was suf- 
ficient to lead you to explore, has brought 
you a certainty which translates itself into 
an added power. 

The reason that we insist on a conditional 
faith such as the scientist has, is this; if you 
blindly follow signs, so swallowed up in 
your belief that you are incapacitated to 
reason, or to think, or to bear disappoint- 
ment, you will become fanatical, and lose 
your discrimination and power of judgment. 

There is a faith that is prepared for 
either success or failure ; it is a kind of half 



16 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

belief in a thing, still strong enough to lead 
one to honest, unbiased investigation about 
it. It is the proper faith for one who inves- 
tigates spiritualistic, psychic and sleight-of- 
hand phenomena ; a watchful, fair, consider- 
ate faith which weighs the pros and cons in 
an investigation, and allows no undue influ- 
ence to be brought to bear either for or 
against the result sought. 

This is strictly the scientific faith, and 
it is the first essential in the mind of the 
student of Philosophy. It should be laid 
down as an axiom by all beginners in the 
pursuit of knowledge, that our desiring or 
not desiring a thing to be, cuts no figure in 
the investigation. Truth does not arrange 
herself to suit us, but forces us to conform 
to her. 

If we enter the stud3^ of Philosophy with 
certain fixed ideas of what we would like to 
have, and of how we wish the Universe to be 
conducted, we are pretty apt to abandon the 
pursuit when we come to find out that Truth 
does not cut her clothes after a pattern of 
our own designing. Truth is safe enough 



OF THE HERMETICS 17 

and we can not improve npon her. It is our 
business to pursue her, and catch and hold 
some aspect of her if possible, otherwise we 
had better return to our delusions. 

To find Truth we must use the scientific 
method, which is always founded upon a 
temporary faith ; a premise assumed for the 
time being, as a test of the possibility of the 
solution of the problem. This is not the 
supreme faith which is founded upon the 
principle of being, and must be the rock 
upon which we build up any lasting struc- 
ture. It is the shifting faith which can be 
abandoned, as we find the object upon which 
it is fixed useful or not ; but we do insist 
that when you start out to explore yourself, 
and to discover the latent possibilities within 
you, that you do as Columbus did, who 
hoped to find a new Continent, which up to 
the day when the first sign of land appeared, 
was to him and the whole of Europe an 
image and a dream. 



18 SOME PHILOSOPHY 



CONCENTRATION. 



We urged you in the last talk to go on a 
voyage of discovery in yourself, and see if 
some waking potentiality was awaiting 
development. In this paper we desire to 
insist on the use of concentration to this effect. 
You who think you know how to concen- 
trate, will find on attempt at a sustained 
effort how difficult it is, and how weak you 
are. 

Look back and see how many things you 
have begun, how many good resolutions you 
have made, and how much you have 
attempted and failed to complete. 

Youth climbs up the ladder of his own 
hopes and scans the prospect ; he expects 
to do every thing, to conquer every thing; 
he levels mountains of opposition in his 
own mind. He figures on becoming king 



OF THE HER ME TICS 19 

of opportunity and creating it at his own 
bidding. Notice him ten years later sitting 
at the foot of the ladder of his dreams. He 
has spent his summers and his winters, his 
springs and his autumns in dabbling. 

First an attempt at this and then at 
that, tasting here and there of everything 
and nourished by nothing. He starts 
down a road to view an object, and 
slips off into a byway to view something 
else. He gets to singing a new tune and 
forgets the first stanza of the old one. He 
knows people and forgets their names, or he 
knows their names and forgets their faces. 
He is forever experimenting and never 
finishing ; he rests half way up the moun- 
tain and a positive climax is something that 
he knows nothing about. 

Look over your life and see what you 
have done. You have dipped into books, 
but they never dipped into you. You have 
studied human nature and been cheated a 
hundred times. You have kissed a friend, 
and then another without reading the heart 
of the first. You came to the realm of 



20 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

Philosophy, and wandered aronnd in a maze; 
you plucked a leaf and threw it away ; you 
inhaled the perfume of a flower and passed 
on; you gathered a bouquet and tossed it 
into the stream ; you dabbled your feet in 
the water, and washed your face in the dew ; 
and then, you entered the front door of a 
church and passed out at the rear. 

You tickled the wings of cupid, and he 
flew away, and sitting down on a grave you 
sighed ; and the next week, you danced. 
Such your life. Now you come to our doors 
and knock ; and we say to you, from behind 
the lock, "Can you look at the point 
of a pin — and look and look. Can you 
rest on a premise, and think and think 
up to the conclusion — can you pile up 
facts on facts to the pinnacle of a principle — 
can you study on one line to the very end of 
the question — can you act on your conclu- 
sion as against the world — can you resist 
straying to the right and left when you have 
started towards a place or condition — can 
you keep on aiming with the same stone at 
the same spot till you hit it — can you stay 



\, 



OF THE HERMETICS 



fixed in any pursuit any length of time, or 
are you a child?" 

Start out with yourself and follow the leaf 
on the wave of your sea; follow — follow — 
concentrate and follow, by the blind faith 
of science, some sign in yourself till its value 
be disclosed. Be like the dog that gives 
chase, and is bound to be in at the death or 
the capture. 

We tell you now, at the very inception of 
the study of Philosophy, that you must have 
two kinds of faith; one absolute, the other 
secondary and changeable; also concentra- 
tion; without these it is useless to go on. 

To cultivate concentration you must prac- 
tice. Cultivate that bull-dog tenacity to hold 
on to a thing till you know what it is, if you 
have once decided to grapple with it. 

Look into yourself and see if your past 
indicates concentration ; if not, begin. 



SOME PHILOSOPHY 



PRACTICE. 



There is something truly pathetic in the 
lives of those who preach and do not practice; 
who revel in the generalities of Philosophy 
as a sort of intellectual tonic, and are at the 
same time too. lazy to try the formulas and 
hold fast to that which is good. 

I desire you to avoid a method of prac- 
tice that is backed by habit. To take 
stated times to become good (say Sundays), is 
not at all after the manner of our system; 
and if you continually pursue this means, 
you will grow as fixed as a rock crystal. 

Life is your business, all kinds of life; 
rustling among men, eating — drinking — 
sleeping — just as Christ did; and the best 
time for you to practice, is all the time. 

I who give you these instructions, know 
what life is from its pleasures to its agonies; 



OF THE HERMETICS 23 

from its feasts to its graveyards ; and the 
more of a Philosopher I am, the more do I 
know of its fnlness. So when I tell you to 
practice, I mean that yon are to stay where 
you are and practice. 

The great need of the world is the living 
Philosopher. Cloisters are out of date. 
Monasteries are old fashioned ; they belong 
to the middle ages. 

People must clash with each other in 
order to live ; must feel each other's pulse, 
and jostle shoulder to shoulder ; they must 
mingle magnetism, I might say, and give 
and take. In this rush, this hurry, is the 
time to try your cult and test its value. 

If you hide a diamond in a box, it loses 
all its power to be saucy and throw back the 
sun's rays to the sun; in fact it forgets after 
a while that it is a diamond at all, and be- 
comes as sullen as a cold pebble. If you 
have anything good, you must find it out; 
and you never can do that by shutting your- 
self up in an occult room and imagining. 

Do not mistake us; we told you to con- 
centrate, and contemplate the point of a pin, 



24 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

but not forever. While a certain amount 
of daily retirement into "your closet" is 
good, just as rest is necessary after exercise, 
too much of it is bad. Learn to concentrate 
and act too; this is practice of the best kind. 
Have a purpose, a means, a way, and ACT 
on it. Having a theory and getting no fact 
out of it, is like having a friend who will 
never embrace you. 

Concentration and action should go to- 
gether. To be sure, you should reverse and 
retire into yourself when the occasion de- 
mands, but never periodically and to order. 
Learn to do it when you have need of it (and 
you can tell that) but do not do it because 
you have arranged to. 

We preach practice from morning until 
night; all the time, everywhere. Your 
Philosophy should stick to you closer than 
the hairs of your head, and should put in an 
appearance on every occasion. If it is good 
for great things, it is good for little things. 

This does not mean that you are to be like 
the self-conscious christian who can never 
get rid of his sense of responsibility; on the 



OF THE HERMETICS 25 

contrary, it assures you the best that there 
is in life. It shows you how to extract the 
most honey from the flower, the grestest 
beauty from the landscape, and the truest 
love out of a fellow mortal. It is also a sort 
of accident policy, it bestows on you a weekly 
allowance in case of something unfortunate 
and unforeseen ; and if you die, it pays up to 
the last penny those whom you have left 
behind. 

It is practical, practical, practical, and if 
what you are getting is not, you hav'nt the 
right thing. Practice at all times, and when- 
ever you fail in making the application, you 
are that far short of grasping the situation. 



26 SOME PHILOSOPHY 



MEMORY. 



When you go down into the shadowy 
place where the sun's rays can not come, 
you are reconciled to the gloom because you 
remember. What is it that you remember ? 
That the sun still shines. You know very 
well that not a ray can penetrate where you 
are ; that as far as you are concerned, for 
the time being, the Giver of Life — the Con- 
soler — the Sun — might as well be put out. 
It is a dark place — gloom — gloom — gloom 
every where, and along with the gloom, 
dampness and chill. But what of it — your 
memory serves you well — you recall the 
splendor outside — the half hour ago when 
you basked in heat and color — all the tints 
that the sun brings out — all the brilliancy 
— and instead of a realization, you substi- 
tute a memory. 



OF THE HE RM ETICS 27 

In your pursuit of Philosophy, understand 
that your path will not be all sunshine. 
Philosophy does not undertake to supply 
glory and glitter, nor does it guarantee you 
a freedom from shadows and tears. Philo- 
sophy does not undertake to change nature; 
it gives you no seven-leagued boots with 
which to stride over the land — no sandals 
like those of Pallas Athene, nor wings of a 
Mercury. Philosophy lets Dame Nature 
alone so far as changing her is concerned ; 
in fact she is very self-willed and like all 
feminine things, has her own way ; but here 
is a secret — Philosophy deals with nature 
somewhat as a good husband does with 
a stubborn spouse ; Philosophy manages 
nature through her own attributes. A 
natural attribute by the way, is memory. 
Philosophy knowing this, brings it to bear 
at the right time, and reaps the reward. 
Philosophy has much tact, just as a wise 
husband has. 

To use art in remembering, is an essen- 
tial towards Philosophic life. To be a good 
forgetter, is as necessary as to be a good 



28 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

recaller. There is nothing more uncomfort- 
able and out of place, than to have some- 
thing that you have put under the sod, 
protrude its head at the wrong time. When 
you bury, bury deep, and do not dig up the 
thing unless you want it. 

Some memories are bores, just like some 
people ; they stay and stay out of pure 
viciousness, and the more you curse them 
the more staying power they show. A 
Philosopher will never allow this ; he knows 
that he can get rid of one memory by sub- 
stituting another, just as you would shove 
an impertinent person out of a chair and 
put another in his place. As you can forget 
by a sort of substitution, you can remem- 
ber by a mental suggestion. 

When down in the shadow, recall some- 
thing — a star, a diamond, or a friend's 
eyes ; and see how quickly the place will 
glow as if a sun had been born, with 
dropped lids — it is the same. There is a 
flash and a shimmer in the fire of memory 
which radiates in the now, if you desire it. 



OF THE HERMETICS 29 

Let us carry this lesson farther. Physi- 
cal darkness is but one phase ; there is a 
mental and a spiritual blackness which 
tongue can not speak of, nor pen portray. 
Even in this dungeon of dungeons memory 
can send a straight ray, and turn black to 
white, night to day. When you recall the 
sun, at the time shadows enshroud you, 
with that recollection comes the conscious- 
ness that the sun is a fixed fact — that it ex- 
ists, and that shadows can not extinguish 
it ; this makes you safe ; safe in your mind, 
safe in your heart ; you wrap the mantle 
of darkness about you, and laugh in the 
face of the night — for the sun IS. You 
have remembered. 

When any trouble — gloom — mood, en- 
folds you in a cloud, remember that the 
sun is, and the rays are warm, love warm, 
and they shine somewhere even in your 
recollection, and with the remembering 
will come a flash like that of Jupiter on 
Olympus — like that of a friend's eyes — 
and black will turn to white and night 
to day. 



3 o SOME PHILOSOPHY 

This is the office of memory. Memory 
is your servant, if you can only realize it, 
memory is your slave, and all slaves impose 
upon their masters when allowed. 

Put impertinent memories to sleep ; wake 
up the right one at the right time ; and 
cheat Dame Nature into believing that she 
has conquered Philosoph}'. 



OF THE HERMETICS 31 



IMAGINATION, 



To imagine something is to call np an 
image in the mind by the will. This is vol- 
untary imagination. Involuntary imagina- 
tion (which is a bad thing always) is that 
state where the image or images come of 
their own accord, oftentimes as unwelcome, 
vulgar or wicked guests. 

Most lewd, vile, uncanny people are tools 
of the imagination. Images which seem to 
be like conscious entities, persist in dwelling 
in, and dominating the untrained tenant 
of an abused brain, and do incalculable 
mischief to him and those with whom he 
associates. 

Imagination is man's greatest friend and 
his greatest enemy; if you control him he 
will serve you; and no artist can paint pic- 
tures as beautiful as his. Command him to 



32 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

sketch the sea, the sky, the stars, the unseen 
and seen wonders of earth and heaven, and 
he will produce instantaneous results. He 
will decorate your castle for you and place 
you in it; he will create an interior environ- 
ment that will so overpower your soul that 
crude outer surroundings will cease to 
trouble you. 

Imagination controlled by the will, is the 
one thing to be desired.) On the other hand, 
involuntary imagination, that creature which 
like a snake slips into your sanctuary in the 
dark and conceals itself to coil and sting 
when you are totally unable to combat it, is 
to be abhorred and dreaded. Not that he is 
forever ugly — the serpent has an unrivaled 
grace, and is a marvel in color — not that, 
but he is unreliable, treacherous and poison- 
ous; he may not sting, but if he does the 
antidote is hard to find. Worse than that, 
he is eternally reproducing himself; he 
brings forth a brood, or rather like the worm, 
the more you divide him the more alive he 
becomes; each piece of him in its turn ma- 
turing and producing. 



OF THE HERMETICS 33 

He turns your mind into a nest, and wal- 
lows in it as the swine wallow in the sty. He 
loves luxury and splendor as does the har- 
lot; and his beauty, when it glitters has all 
the fascination of a lewd woman. 

The true sage controls his imagination 
somewhat as he does his memory, putting it 
out as he would extinguish a lamp, or light- 
ing it as he would kindle a fire. The true 
sage can build himself an air castle that 
floats in a cloud, and frescoe it with the pic- 
tures of angels. He can conjure forms of 
grandeur that outrival nature's own work; 
and create storms, the thunders of which 
will drown the voice of Jupiter. He can tint 
the rose and perfume the lily; still further, 
he can create the NEW, and build palaces 
that no architect before him has conceived, 
and design landscapes that as yet, are 
strangers to the brush. The sage but wills 
and his servant, the imagination, does. 

On the contrary, he who is unwise, is the 
coward lackey of his Master Imagination. 
He grovels at his feet, and hides his head, 
and stops his ears against the horrors thrust 



34 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

upon him. He fears the dark, and dreads 
being alone. He is tortured about his health, 
and magnifies every twinge of pain into the 
death agony. All symptoms are to him as 
fatal ; he sleeps in his own coffin every night, 
and is resurrected from the grave every 
morning. His dreams are all warnings and 
prognosticate some future weal or woe. 

His animal instincts run riot, while he is 
fettered and bound; his progeny haunt him 
like bad children, and lean on him for sup- 
port. The air is peopled with his loathe- 
some offspring, and they follow him where- 
ever he goes. 

This fate is inevitable to him who allows 
his imagination to go rampant. In time, 
his will falls to sleep and he becomes like 
one in fever — the prey to uncanny dreams — 
or like the brandy-soaked victim who is ever 
terrified at the reptiles which his diseased 
fancy brings forth. 

Take your imagination in hand, and hold 
it as you would a pair of horses ; do not 
let it break, but pull on the bit even 
though it foams and writhes. To have 



OF THE HERMETICS 35 

your imagination run with you, is to have 
it bring you up any where either throwing 
you upon the rocks or landing you in the 
gutter. 

Every one has imagination in some form. 
The power to call up images, is in all 
normal human minds, and the power to 
bid them leave is there also. 

The sage can free his mind of either 
unpleasant memories or undesired imagin- 
ation, by an effort of pure will or by a 
substitution. It is just as easy to substi- 
tute one imagination for another as one 
memory for another .'N 

The power to conjure is a ready power 
and easy to handle ; ghosts, hobgoblins, 
saints and sinners will come at a wave of 
the magic wand, and if you did but know 
it, at another wave they will disappear. 

Evil imagination leads to suspicion, 
this (as a rule) is a bad tenant. To be 
forever suspecting, is to go through life as 
some people go through a kitchen, sniffing 
right and left for bad smells; searching 
out hidden corners with an eye for finding 



36 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

fault ; weighing all commodities with a 
pair of test scales, under pretext of detect- 
ing theft; or like one who steals into 
places at unsuspected times on the lookout 
for scandal ; listening at key-holes, prowl- 
ing like a cat at night, peeping into 
windows, over-hauling coat-pockets, rum- 
maging desk drawers, talking in ambiguous 
phrases, dealing in hints, implying every- 
thing and saying next to nothing. 

All this is the fruit of an ungoverned 
imagination ; and in its train come jealousy 
and envy — a hideous pair — who trample on 
hearts and reputations, and mark their 
trail with a stream of blood. 

Catch your imagination while you can, 
and wither it with a glance of your eye ; 
otherwise it will curse you — and in cursing 
you, will curse the world. 



OF THE HERMETICS 37 



THE BOOK OF REVELATION, 



It is not the Koran, nor the Bible, nor 
the Tripitaka. It is not the sky with its 
glittering pattern of stars, nor objective 
nature as manifested in the sea, the 
mountains, the rocks nor the rivers. It is 
not hidden in the debris of the past, nor 
written upon the tombs of Egyptian Kings. 
It is not stamped upon tables of stone, nor 
will it come in handwriting upon the wall. 
No savant will search it out for you in 
some concealed vellum covered thickly 
with hieroglyphics ; nor will some priest 
of the future reveal it to you, taken down 
from the mouth of an angel. 

To go far to find it will be to waste your 
time. To wait to have it come to you, will 
be as fruitless as the waiting for an impos- 
sible Judgment Day. 



38 SOME PHILOSOPHY 



The Book of Revelation exists, neverthe- 
less, and its pages can be counted by 
hundreds. It is in many volumes, bound 
in skins finer than that of the sheep or the 
chamois. Its letters are written in the 
three fundamental colors intershaded by 
many tints ; some of them flash fire, and 
some are wet with tears. It is fully illust- 
rated with pictures in pigment mixed with 
blood, and in etchings of black and white. 
The scenes are humorous, grotesque, be- 
wildering, sad, ecstatic, divine. 

"And where is this book," you ask; I 
answer, "Look within, read yourself, and 
behold the revelation" 

The skin covers enfolding each volume 
inclose a life of your being — the fine skin 
covers — the tale is your own sorrowful, 
happy story which never ends, but has se- 
quel after sequel eternally. The letters pick 
out the emotions, in dark or light, in blood 
or fire. The blank pages are your dream- 
less sleeping hours; and each sentence points 
the moral like the finger of fate. 

It is the Book of Mystery — the record of 



OF THE HERMETICS 39 

the dead and the living — its initial letters 
speak beginnings and the closing word of 
every page its endings. Yon can read this 
book from first to last, or backward from last 
to first. It reveals, reveals, reveals. The 
more yon read, the more yon learn. No two 
pages are alike; no two scenes are the same, 
yet one flowers ont of the other as naturally 
as the rose from the bud. 

It is an inspired book; inspired by Mother 
Nature, by the Priest of Friendship, by the 
God of Love, by the King of Evil. 

It contains prophesies innumerable and 
warnings without number. Its sallies of wit 
conceal an element of sadness; its snatches 
of pathos, a strain of gladness. In the read- 
ing, your eyes travel between the lines, and 
up and down and right and left. The words 
form into things and the things become 
alive; even the thoughts march on in file, a 
long procession holding volume to volume, 
as an army spans a river and binds land to 
land. 

This book was used at your christening, 
and will be brought forth at your funeral. 



40 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

It is given to you for a plaything in your 
cradle and will be folded in your hands in 
your coffin. It is your Sacred Book — your 
Bible — your Bhagavat — your Ritual. It 
encases your prayers and your psalms. 
Alas ! it embodies your evil thoughts and 
your woes. 

Each letter casts a shadow, and the bright- 
est throws the blackest. It is illuminated 
with its own light, and the color of the glow 
varies with the turning of the pages. It is 
written in hieroglyphics which you alone 
can understand — and even you puzzle over 
the letters, when naught but the dictionary 
of objectivity can help. 

Study the world, that you may find its 
final interpretation. 



OF THE HERMETICS 41 



PRIDE AND PHILOSOPHY. 



It is not strange that pride is the usual 
vice of all young Philosophers. By young 
Philosophers I mean those just beginning 
the pursuit of a genuine system. The 
first result of ardent and earnest investiga- 
tion is an increase of power, and with power 
comes pride. A consciousness of strength 
makes one teem with self-respect, or in other 
words an emotion which the vulgar call 
conceit. 

To be a few inches higher than your fel- 
low-men on the ladder, enables you to look 
down upon them, and alas ! to despise 
them. We condemn self-respect, pride, self- 
love and self-pity, because to respect your- 
self is, to a great extent, to be satisfied; and 
to be satisfied in this sense of self-admira- 
tion, is to check all further advancement 
along the line of consciousness. 

A respect of self is simply another way 



42 SOME PHIL OSOPHY 

of being proud of self, and this entire sen- 
timent should be replaced by a something 
which puts the contemplation of self, in the 
petting, coddling, comforting way, entirely 
out of your thought. 

Pursue a thing for its own sake — beauty 
— art — health— happiness, and in the pur- 
suit after the ideal self-respect will be killed. 
Do not be alarmed, there is no danger of 
your going wrong in this; the object of 
your pursuit will save you from degrada- 
tion. When you are on the chase, no one 
can hurt you by enticements or allurements. 
You will not stop to lie or to steal or to do 
vulgar acts. You have no time to call 
names or, in any manner, to lower your 
moral standard. 

Other people will honor your concentra- 
tion and the results produced by it. You 
have no need to contemplate yourself, or 
pay homage to your own soul. 

Pride is an uncomfortable thing to have 
about one ; it pricks like a paper of pins ; it 
is easily knocked over, and it falls like lead, 
and in the overturning makes a noise and 



OF THE HERMETICS 43 

attracts everybody's attention. A hanghty, 
self-respecting person is ever sensitive lest 
his pride shall be hurt, and challenges the 
world with his satisfied gaze ; which world, 
proceeds immediately upon the challenge to 
knock him down. 

It is not in the least strange that the 
young Philosopher is proud, because an in- 
creased sense of power makes one superior, 
and being strong, he takes delight in mani- 
festing this consciousness. There are two 
reasons for this ; one is that he sees the 
littleness of his fellow-man as he never did 
before (this is right), and the other reason is 
that he is not yet himself sufficiently in 
love with the object of his pursuit (say 
truth) to rise above this enervating con- 
sciousness of self (this is wrong). We 
find ourselves only in something outside, 
never in dwelling on self emotionally . To 
dwell on self in this way is to sap your own 
life. This has nothing to do with self-con- 
templation intellectually , which is desir- 
able. We prohibit emotional self-contem- 
plation only. 



44 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

Pride is an emotion, a feeling ; self-respect 
explains itself in its name. It is a warming 
up of self to self, an admiration of self for 
self, a gloating over, a feeding upon self. 
This is one of the greatest evils. 

When the young man came to Christ and 
informed him in a self-complacent way, that 
he had kept all the Commandments from 
his youth up, the Master requested him to 
sell all that he had and follow him ; mean- 
ing, that in pursuit of the Ideal he should 
forget his own goodness. 

Do not mistake us. Your final object is 
to find yourself, but you never can do it by 
self-admiration. As you never have seen 
your own face except in a mirror, you never 
can behold yourself except in another. 
When you gaze into the eyes of a friend you 
find a little image of yourself imbedded 
there. To find the beauty of the subject, 
you must gaze at the object. 

Pore over self, look into self, analyze self, 
dissect self; but never shed one tear upon 
the soil of your own soul; if you do, some- 
thing rank and poisonous will grow with 



OF THE HER ME TICS 45 

roots so deep, that it will take your whole 
Unit of Force to pull it out. 

The true Philosopher does not carry his 
pride with him long. Before he enters the 
narrow path he is stripped naked and his 
pride falls first. He is allowed nothing 
heavy about him, and pride is heavy; he 
has to run, for he is after something which 
eludes and evades him. His eye must be 
steadily fixed on the object or it will escape 
him ; and self-respect would be a fatal encum- 
brance. He becomes so in earnest in view- 
ing himself in the thing that he is after 
that he forgets himself altogether; this 
proves that one who would save his life must 
lose it in the life of another. 

The first sorrow that comes to the young 
Philosopher is the fall of his pride; when it 
has been broken he becomes a servant ; and 
that to the very ones upon whom he for- 
merly looked down. "He that is first shall 
be last." He stoops to conquer, and when 
he again holds up his head, it is for the pur- 
pose of seeing better, rather than that of 
looking over the hats of people. 



46 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

The object of this Philosophy is to gain 
power ; not that we may come down on 
others with crushing blows, but that we may 
give them a lift upward. You might stiffen 
your back till you walked like a heathen 
king, but as your strut becomes intensified 
your line of equipoise might be overlooked 
and your next position would be that of a 
fool Jn the dirt. 

Save your energy for the race; you are 
supposed to be after something and very 
much in earnest. Other people will see 
you running and possibly they will start in 
too, just for the running's sake, and later 
on they may find an object to chase. 

If you have a vestige of pride left, if your 
self-respect still lingers; if your self-love 
whimpers and whines, get rid of them all. 
They will block your way where ever you 
turn; and as long as you harbor these 
vices you will get no where. Your haughty 
looks will set others to laughing; and you 
will freeze yourself. Before you go farther 
strangle your pride, lest it get too heavy for 
you and throw you down. 



OF THE HER ME TICS 47 



WHO ARE OUR CRANKS? 



What are cranks ? Who are they ? These 
questions are easily answered. First let me 
say, that there are all degrees of cranks, 
from absolute to comparative ; that they 
range from a fool to a knave and from a king 
down to a peasant. Let me add also, that 
they are dangerous every one of them, from 
the highest to the lowest. A crank is an 
unbalanced person; by this we do not mean 
insane, but one whose consciousness is 
clouded; he wears a veil and does not see 
straight ; he is cross eyed and intrinsically 
evil. 

A person may be ignorant and not be a 
crank ; he may see but a short distance but 
his vision will be correct as far as it goes . 
He will not have a mountain-top sweep, but 
he can make out a horse or a dog as truly 



48 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

as could Lord Bacon. Ignorance and short- 
sightedness do not mean crankism. 

A crank has crooked sight ; no matter 
what he sees nor how far, everything is out 
of gear, distorted. To be seen properly even 
a small thing should be consistent with 
itself and to the one who sees. A crank's 
vision is out of focus; not only his physical 
vision, but his mental and psychical vision 
as well. 

The mass of humanity have a vast deal of 
common sense. Selfishness develops this 
very early. The great body of mankind 
adjust themselves to their environment 
without knowing why. They avoid spectacles 
and steer clear of oculists. They have a 
sort of horse understanding which enables 
them to find a stable and fodder. Selfish- 
ness is the cause of this, but it is a proper 
selfishness and of a different kind from that 
of the crank. 

If the crank is not born an Egoist he very 
soon becomes one, for it is almost invariably 
the love of notoriety that leads him into 
eccentricities. He longs for some sort of 



OF THE HERMETICS 49 

fame, any sort. The idea of the love of 
truth for itself has never entered his 
head. His first ambition is to be looked np 
to. He begins by becoming odd, and thus 
attracts notice. There is so much of the 
fakir about him, that he grows more eccen- 
tric as people stare. If he gets a following, 
he begins to believe in himself and finally 
concludes that he is inspired; having no 
balance, but only love of fame, he does more 
and more absurd things until the world 
hisses him down. 

His disciples become contaminated with 
his unholy magnetism, and become lesser 
cranks themselves, rushing with their 
erratic Master to destruction. 

There are religious, scientific, artistic, 
scholastic, dogmatic cranks ; cranks of both 
sexes; cranks among the rich and the poor. 
They run after all sorts of absurdities which 
have no basis of reason. They like conceal- 
ment and mystery; they hate the light of 
the sun and sense. Alas ! a vast proportion 
are women, whose little minds dabble right 
and left in mysterious cults, that they may 



50 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

have hobbies and fads. They bring greater 
cranks to their drawing rooms to lecture 
them on X plus nothing, and that they may 
drink in words as a toper swallows rum. 
They ask no questions other than, " Is it 
new?" "Is it strange?" They never once 
inquire "On what is it based?'' "Is it 
sound ? " They abhor logic, evidence and 
facts ; they adore theories, dreams and asser 
tions. They love one who will state to them 
something in positive tones with divine 
authority. They delight in being hypno- 
tized by fools more foolish than themselves. 
They glory in the Kingdom of Fooldom and 
long to dwell there forever. 

Talk to them in plain Saxon, and they 
accuse you of being rough; present them a 
syllogism and they dub you as dry; preach 
to them plain facts, and they call you com- 
mon ; give them experience and they banish 
you at once. They desire and promulgate 
hypotheses and theories; they stand with 
each foot on an assertion and shake their 
fists at reason. 

You will find the crank on nearly every 



OF THE HERMETICS 51 

street of every city in America, to say noth- 
ing of Europe and the Holy East. But the 
Arch Crank is rarer; and like the Chief 
Devil is slippery and evasive. He is around 
though, and he has one quality that the 
ordinary crank has not — wickedness; his 
very crankiness is abnormal self-interest 
and sin. Beware of the others, but very 
much of him ; he is horned and hoofed and 
clawed. He can hurt you with his head or 
his feet or his hands, even with his eyes. 
In fact, His Majesty the Prince of Evil, is 
a crank, if crookedness means anything. 

You ask anxiously, " How shall we recog- 
nize those who are truly clairvoyant and 
honest ? " By one simple rule — a common 
sense seeker after synthetic truth for truth's 
sake is never a crank. If he is in earnest, 
fame and notoriety are side issues. He is so 
serious that he forgets to pose; he is not sit- 
ting for his photograph, he is engaged in 
living. Life is his object, not position; he 
may appear cranky at times, and exceed- 
ingly absurd, but his motive, if he let you 
see it, will clear his name. The would-be 



52 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

Sage often seems like a fool, but to look the 
crank and to be one, are vastly different. 

" Are there no Honest cranks? " you ask. 
Yes, a few. They are the great specialists, 
who have scarcely any power of generaliza- 
tion; they accomplish something in one 
particular line, but their vision is narrow ; 
they see straight ahead, but they cannot look 
out at the sides. They have a defect of vis- 
ion which the doctors find hard to cure. 

The all-round Sage has eyes peering to 
all points of the compass. Try to " evolute " 
eyes ; the more eyes you have, the less of a 
crank you will be. 



OF THE HERMETICS 53 



ONE DAY. 



In the dark we dream of the dawn and 
youth — divine youth — starry-eyed. We 
pray for the morning — and the flash — a sky 
warm with the bud of passion — a form soft- 
limbed and strong. It comes — We have 
prayed. It comes — morning — youth. 

We stand somewhere on a high place, and 
thrill with our blood — and the sunrise. 
The bud steals up on the sky like the 
promise of a fiery rose — the blood mounts 
to our cheeks like a prophesy of creation. 
But it is opening — the great flower. The sky 
quivers with red rapture — youth is fulfilled 
— passion is rising — our soul is on fire. 

Alas ! We stare at the sun and he puts 
out our eyes — the new sun — the young sun 
— he stabs us with needles of light till 
pleasure is pain. And our passion — the 



54 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

flower of our youth — pierces us through and 
through till ecstacy weeps. 

Alas ! We long for the noon — the 
climax — the zenith. We go in the dark 
and wait. 

Up the high path of the sky the sun 
triumphantly marches — and we wait in the 
dark. The noon of our life — the climax — 
the zenith — when glitters the mind like 
steel in the battle — when the heart beats 
time to the fight — when our muscles are 
hard like a rock — our nerves tense like the 
string of a bow. 

Alas ! We uncover our heads and go 
out at the stroke of the clock — High noon 
when the mass is said and the aged die — 
And we stare, but the sun more cruel than 
fate pierces us through with its darts. We 
are blind — struck by the light. 

Alas ! Our blood had grown rich — we 
were ripe — our muscles and nerves were 
tense — our heart beat time to the march of 
our feet — We lifted our arm, our strong 
right arm, and hurled the lance — It was 
noon — it struck at the sun in the zenith 



OF THE HERMETICS 55 

above, and backward it flew to our heart — 
straight to our heart. The rose of our 
passion was dead — killed by our strong 
right arm. 

We go in the dark and pray — pray for the 
eve and the setting sun — for the splendors 
that usher in night, when the stars of hope 
come out. We pray for the calm of our 
poisoned blood — for the cool of the slow 
heart beat — for the quiet of sleep — for 
comforting dreams. 

Alas ! the sun goes down and we stare 
in its face — but our eyes are gone — eaten 
by worms — the worm of age. And we fall 
to the ground for our limbs are weak — 
they shake with years. And we look within 
but we cannot see, for our blood is cold and 
thick — our heart is ice, and beats with a 
noise like the cracking of snow. 

Alas! Alas!! But wait !! ! The GODS 
do face the sun. BE GODS. 



56 SOME PHILOSOPHY 



SECRET GRIEF. 



You will understand it, and how impossi- 
ble it is to seek sympathy anywhere. You 
would go to the rack ere you would tell it ; 
torture could never force it from you. You 
hide it and hide it deeper and deeper for fear 
some far-reaching eye will pierce to the 
secret. It is yours, emphatically yours. 
Your closest friend never suspects it, or if 
he does he cannot divine it. Shame would 
paint your face redder than roses if it were 
dreamed of; not the shame of guilt, but the 
shame of shyness. You know that no mor- 
tal can comprehend it, no mortal but you ; 
even God must be puzzled about it you are 
sure. It is utterly inexplicable, and simply 
is as life is. It is something so foreign to 
what you would tolerate in another, that 
you wonder that you nurse it in yourself. 



OF THE HERMETICS 57 



It is altogether out of the Conventional, and 
has a close kinship to Mother Nature un- 
painted and unpowdered by the hand of 
Civilization. 

It is an enigma, and yet you comprehend it 
in a way and feel that it is the key to your- 
self. Could you discover the meaning of it, 
you would know who you are, what you have 
been, and will be. Your Secret Grief is 
sacred; it dwells in your innermost heart 
where no other may enter. It puts your 
character in a strange light — the after-glow 
of a long gone past floods it, and the dawn 
of tomorrow gilds its tdgt. It is not so 
much something that you have done, as a 
something that you have felt and still feel; 
a something that Society says you shall not 
feel ; that man prohibits. As if Society and 
man could stop the natural beat of the heart, 
and escape the brand of Cain. 

It may be a secret love which the very 
secrecy sanctifies. It may be a secret hate, 
which God suffers. It may be an unful- 
filled aspiration at which the world would 
laugh. It may be a memory upon which 



58 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

Priests frown and God smiles. It may be a 
regret which grows like a tropic palm, be- 
cause of your scalding tears. Whatever it 
is, it is not as man would have it, and you 
are satisfied. You wander in the wilderness 
with your Ishmael and no one sees. It is 
your sacred property, the text of your scrip- 
ture. It is the unnatural child, dearer to 
the mother than the one born in wed-lock. 
It is the wild flower, sweeter in scent than 
the garden rose. It is the crystal spring, 
hid in the height of inaccessible mountains. 
It is the ocean depth which the plumb line 
misses. It is the star out of sight which 
pulls on the planets. Stop a moment! 
Think ! Now do you know? Do you 
understand. 

There are open secrets, honorable sor- 
rows, respectable griefs where mourners 
stand about, and sympathizers swarm. There 
is priceless crepe, there are flowers and cof- 
fins satin-lined. The minister condoles and 
prays, and angels stop their ears. There 
are donated years when sorrows sit down in 
the house, well dressed in black; when com- 



OF THE HERMETICS 59 

forters come and go, in black; when light 
steals into the eyes through black — respect- 
able black — and the clock calculates the time 
for the wearing of black — and the seasons 
are ravens in black. 

But one with the Secret Grief steals up to 
his room alone and looks out in the dark on 
the sky, and catching a glimpse of the moon 
he melts her with his eyes. The moon of flint 
floats in the mist — the mist of his eyes. 
He locks the door and bids his Secret Grief 
come forth. Her face chiseled by Destiny 
defiantly meets his own. She kisses him. 
Her form, hewn by the Fates, enfolds him. 
Her hair, shaded from dark to light by the 
ages, entangles him. Her Karmic eyes meet 
his and absorb them. Her teeth, hardened by 
time, bite with their passion his tender flesh. 
He writhes and quivers in throes of delicious 
despair. He loves her, and the more he 
loves the more she tortures. She melts into 
him and is lost again — deep — deep in his 
heart. 

Then, calmly and unflinchingly he carries 
her about in the mart of trade, to church 



60 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

even to his own fire-side. He talks with 
friends; they know not. He smiles in 
women's eyes and they smile back. He 
dances, eats and laughs. He earns gold and 
spends. He studies and invents. He dies. 
And when they try to bury him, something 
weighs the coffin down — the bearers stagger. 
The Grief is there — 'tis like a stone. He 
left it when he died. 



OF THE HERMETICS 61 



COLD DESPAIR. 



A feeling of despair once felt, is ever 
afterward appearing in memory, somewhat 
as a death escaped comes back torturing 
like a phantom fiend. Very few on earth 
have drank the cup to the dregs. To drain 
the cup, is reserved for the elect. 

Sorrow has touched you, and you call it 
despair. Agony has passed before you, and 
you name it despair. Pain has vanquished 
you, and you have imagined despair; 
but the horrid thing, the never-forgotten 
thing, comes rarely. As long as Hope 
casts a single ray, despair is not, for the 
creature glows with its own light — the lurid, 
sulphuric, blue glitter of hell. 

Hope shrouds one in white mist through 
which the eyes cannot penetrate. Where 
Hope is, all is white mist — the fog of 



62 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

illusion. But despair crawls on its belly, 
and lights up the night with the shine 
of its scales — phosphorescent like fire-flies. 
There are things that are light and cold. 
Despair is light and cold — colder than ice — 
colder than space — colder than the dead. 
To feel its touch, checks the flow of your 
blood, and neither the fire nor the sun can 
warm you. You shrink back and back into 
yourself, farther, farther back in search of heat 
— of the white heat of life. But the furnace 
is cold, the fire smoulders. Despair waits 
his chance. He bides his time. He catches 
Hope napping, and he freezes her ; and then, 
he -seizes you with his eyes. If Hope is not 
frozen stiff, if she be not stark and dead, she 
will arouse and veil your face and Despair 
will wander off; but Memory, like his slimy 
trail, will stay. 

What can you do, what will you do if he 
appear ? 

"Fore warned, fore armed." 

Despair and Hope are twins, born from 
the same womb at the same hour. The 
secret sympathy between the two, you can 



OF THE HERMETICS 63 

not fail to feel. Where one is, there the 
other dwells. Though Hope shrouds you 
in her veil until Despair is not, beware ! for 
this illusion veil — this maze of tint and 
light — this many colored rainbow shroud — 
this cloud of bubbles and dew — this irides- 
cent lace entwined with opals, amethysts 
and pearls — this dainty dream of splendor 
dazzling while it soothes, is but the burial 
shroud of truth. It is the mist upon the 
microscopic lens. It is the mote within the 
telescopic eye. It is the mask upon a 
woman's face. It is the fool's cap on the 
Sage's head. 

In flying from Despair you leave fair 
Hope behind. Fair Hope ! The aphrodite 
of your dreams — the golden-haired — the 
amber-eyed. Fair Hope ! who points to 
something yet unseen — who smiles on some- 
thing yet unknown. 

Truth will have none of her, for like a 
harlot, she conceals within her ample skirts 
her brother — Cold Despair. She hides him 
mid the draperies and dances madly in the 
sun — her partner hugged close to her 



SOME PHILOSOPHY 



breast — but when she tires and falls upon 
the ground asleep, sometimes alas ! some- 
times the dew trailed mystery of her robe is 
rent, and from her very vitals does her 
awful mate come forth. Sometimes — but 
you who never dance with Hope, see him 
not. Sorrow, agony and pain have been 
your guests, but Cold Despair is yet to come. 
Beware ! beware of Hope, and seek ye 
wisdom. Truth neither hopes nor fears ; 
she understands. What she sees is essence, 
more glittering than illusion in the glare of 
fire, more brilliant than all the suns above, 
more real than Karma, more enduring than 
the Fates. And on the door-post of her 
temple there is writ in blood, " He who 
enters here, leaves Hope behind." 



OF THE HERMETICS 65 



BEAUTY— ART— POWER. 



What is it you desire, Beauty? What 
for ? Is it to please a friend ? Is it to win 
a heart ! Is it to gain admiration, flattery 
or fame, or is it for the love of it ? 

The object of this Philosophy is power. 
You ask for Beauty for the reason, perhaps, 
that you love it, but still more for the sake 
of power. Now pay close attention. The 
sense of Beauty is in some sense the most 
pleasing of all the abstractions ; for it is a 
sense and an abstraction. Beauty is that 
certain combination of things that appeals 
to us in a manner to fascinate. In this 
sense it is rather different from all other 
abstractions. The abstraction lies in the law 
of the combination. The same things thrown 
together in some other way, would be gov- 
erned by another abstraction which would not 
be that of Beauty. 

Suppose you desire this result, Beauty, in 



66 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

order to please a friend, or to win a heart. 
What comes ? Beauty, but not in the form 
which appeals to the heart you desire to 
engage. // comes to you as you ap- 
preciate, and fails to do the work 
desired. You are duped, and have 
missed your end. The love of Beauty 
not being the ultimate, but the love of the 
friend, you have neither a reward from the 
abstraction nor the desired heart. Alas ! 
desolation. Your premise was wrong. To 
gain power from Beauty you must seek it 
for its own sake, leaving out of your mind 
all thought of what it will do with 
others, and filling yourself with the 
idea of what it will do with you. Out of 
this goes and comes Power. Beauty blesses 
you, and with the touch of the tips of her 
fingers, you feel the magnetic thrill. Your 
magic then over others comes not from your 
conception of Beauty, nor your passion for 
her, but from the added power which your 
consciousness of her bestows. 

Your effect upon others comes always 
from a concealed power; and a love of Beauty 



OF THE HER ME TICS 67 

for itself, aids that power. Having such a 
devotion to the abstraction, you find it mani- 
fests in form everywhere and always con- 
gruous. Beauty is never incongruous ; she 
combines well and appropriately. She does 
not adorn her sea-nymphs in muslin ball 
dresses, nor her belles of the dance in a bath- 
ing suit. She puts the right thing in the 
right place, and makes it fit to the landscape 
and environment. 

A woman devoted to the beautiful would 
endeavor to be so even on a desert where no 
eye, not even her own, could behold her. 
She would seek — all things being equal — 
for the adored one, and would beg her com- 
pany. She would instinctively adorn her- 
self for the Beauty's sake, even though 
her conception of her be different from 
all others ; and in this converse with the 
divine abstraction — harmony manifested in 
the Real — she would grow strong. 

In the world no one can laugh down the 
Beauty lover. He is supremely happy in 
his divine association and smiles back on 
the scorner in his consciousness of power. 



68 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

Do you desire Art ? What for — for whom ? 
If for another, to gain by it, to hold another, 
your quest is vain; but if your motto is, 
" Art for Art's sake/' pray on. Like Beauty, 
Art is an abstraction growing out of combi- 
nation. It has a meaning, subtle, and its 
own. It includes consistency and congruity. 
But Beauty is not necessarily its divine con- 
sort. 

Art brings holy satisfaction, in fact a 
species of ecstacy; but the rapture is differ- 
ent from that of Beauty or Love. There 
is a sense of the dual nature of Truth about 
Art, which is not found in the glamour of 
Cupid. In the trail of Art is a stream of 
blood — on the brow of Art is the shadow of 
hate — in the eyes of Art is the lust of life. 

Art like a white star, twinkles in all 
tints — fire which burns heaven's blue and 
blackness. Art is master of heaven and 
hell — he soars to the zenith and dives to 
the center. He is awful — he is sweet — he 
appeals to the worst and the best in you. 
He is a God, all-sided. He fires you with 
the lust of a fiend, and inspires you with 



OF THE HERMETICS 69 

the love of an angel. He tempts yon to 
the low, and beckons you to the high. 
Splendid! magnificent! he stands on the 
rock-granite foundation of earth, and 
lizards crawl over his feet. But the tower- 
ing head rears itself into the cold spaces 
where feeling is lost in intellect and fear 
in knowledge. The heat of the planet's 
internal fires warm him — the cold of the 
sky's chilling ethers freeze him — Art the 
terrible — Art the divine. 

Would you know him, touch him — kneel 
at his feet ? Let me whisper a secret — only 
for his own sake, will he have you — only 
for his own sake — And more, while you 
crawl near his skirts and pick flowers, he 
is likely to tread on your form. He will 
think you a worm. Rise up. Stand near, 
and measure stature with him. Though 
he towers to the stars, stand near. Dare 
thou to stand; and gazing on him thou 
wilt grow taller — taller — elbow to elbow — 
shoulder to shoulder — taller — taller — neck 
to neck — head to head — eyes to eyes. 

Power — Beauty — Art — Power ! 



7 o SOME PHILOSOPHY 



SPIRITS AND DEVILS. 



We have a good deal to say on this sub- 
ject, and what we do not put into words 
may be easily read between the lines. In 
the first place, to go spirit hunting is bad 
business, unless — here we make a dash — , 
for there are conditions. 

If you have the scientific mind, which is 
nothing other than one bent on knowing 
for the knowing's sake ; if you are sure of 
yourself, you may search after ghosts. 
Anything you can find in the Universe is 
a good thing, if it comes to you in the form 
of a hard fact. Do not congratulate 
yourself; it is possible that you have not 
as yet evolved the scientific mind. 

But wait a moment, there is another 
condition ; perhaps you have lost a friend 
— one very much loved ; that the living 



OF THE HERMETICS 71 

without Him is a long agony ; possibly you 
have not gone far enough in philosophy to 
understand the full meaning of this, so 
you call him to come to you — out of the 
darkness — out of the unseen — if only 
the vapor him — that you may know his 
breath on your cheek — cold like the wind 
of winter, but his. Have you the right to 
this — you have. 

The " touch of the vanished hand " will 
set you singing again ; only — know this, 
that where you head, there is danger. In 
the wet where the lilies grow, the devil is 
hid ; those pale ghost lilies spring from the 
slime where the wallowing snake lies low. 

In the seance room, His Majest}' sits, 
where the horse-shoe circle divides. He 
pays no money and laughs in his scarlet 
sleeve when you pay yours. Respectable 
ghosts stay away, all SPIRITS except 
himself — all. If as savant you seek for a 
ghost, keep clear of the seance room 
where a fee is paid. And more, look out 
for the unseen guest who laughs in his 
scarlet sleeve. If you seek for the loved 



72 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

and lost, keep clear of the seance room 
for they never come that way. 

His Majesty cheats you again in the 
guise and form of a bride or a friend. 
Some day we will tell you how. Satan 
goes round disguised as a ghost, and devils 
both great and small emerge from the cur- 
tained box — unseen but real. 



OF THE HERMETICS 73 



DEATH— WHAT OF IT? 



" If I should die/' you say, " If I should 
die just at the moment when I have learned 
to live, what good? Philosophy is for life, 
life — but death! What has the frozen 
corpse, embalmed, shrouded, boxed, to do 
with truth ? The charnel-house is a dreary 
place ; the grave is foul ; even the mauso- 
leum, touched up with gold, is a lonesome 
spot. " If I should die— what then ? " 

Philosophy is for life, we still reiterate, 
for life; nor do we deny that death is stalk- 
ing up and down the world to meet even you 
— you. Some day the wind will blow — 
colder than ever before — it will lay you low, 
and transform you into a fallen statue. The 
breath of Death ! more chill than the winds 
of the Arctic — Death ! He has a twin 



74 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

brother — sleep — a zephyr of him, yet bleak. 
He lowers your pulse and lays you down and 
closes your eyes. 

Where does Truth sit while you sleep ? 
Have you watched the sea when the tide is 
low — have you heard it sigh in its dreams ? 

You sleep, and the tide of your life goes 
down — down to the ebb — and you sigh in 
your dreams ; but Truth never closes her 
eyes ; she watches through night and day 
— and she smiles when you sigh — when the 
sea sighs. 

When you die you will grow so cold that 
you will forget to breathe — your brain will 
be frozen hard — your lungs will turn to ice 
— you will even forget to think — to love. 
But wait ! Philosophy, garbed in the robes 
of Truth will watch the tomb for three long 
days, till the butterfly breaks the cocoon ; 
till the seed bursts open its husk; till the 
chick is hatched from the egg; till the tide 
begins to rise; till the stone is rolled away 
and the Christ comes forth. 

Remember that death is the soil of life 



OF THE HERMETICS 75 

and life is the despair of death. Remember 
you enter the womb to come out; you come 
out to return again. What manner of man 
goeth in, cometh out; what manner of man 
cometh out, Philosophy knows. She meets 
her own at the gate of birth, and walks by 
his side to the gate of death. Three days 
in the tomb — three days. 

When you wake from sleep, you take up 
the thread and weave it into the warp where 
it dropped the night before; if you find it 
knotted — Alas ! you left it so. When you 
wake from the ebb-tide of death and open 
your eyes in the realms of self, you pick up 
your thread and weave again where you 
ceased to weave the night before. If knotted 
— Alas! you left it so. 

O loved ones do you not see that the silken 
cord never breaks ; you pick it up, now here, 
now there, and you spin, and spin, and spin, 
like the sisters of fate. You spin as the 
spider spins, and fasten yourself to the web. 
You spin with the silver cord, as fine as a 
silken hair, as strong as the fiber of life. 



76 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

The fabric you weave hangs high twixt this 
and the other world. 'Tis a veil of gossa- 
mer stuff, perfect on either side. You look 
through its meshes without — you look 
through its meshes within — now standing 
in front in the cold — now standing behind 
in the heat. 'Tis an endless veil — and you 
spin, and spin, and spin— but what do you 
spin? 

The genius seeks his muse and kneels at 
her feet — " O muse! One look from thee — 
that I may know eternity." 

You who die, remember Philosophy — 
your muse! She closes your eyelids in sleep, 
and sits at your side the long night through. 
Dawn comes in, you open your eyes, your 
questioning looks melt into hers. She has 
watched through the night with steady gaze. 
She saw the stars come up and the moon 
dip into the sea. Her glance swept the 
spaces and comprehended the drama of 
earth. She saw Love's rhapsody and Hate's 
gore. She beheld sorrow, weeping and pain 
writhing. She watched the Mother in the 
pangs of child-birth and the sufferer on his 



OF THE HER ME TICS 77 

bed of death. All this time you breathed 
softly — your pulse was low — you slept. 

When death touches you and the wind 
blows cold, your muse stands firm. 
She wraps you in her cloak and lays you 
out. She braces herself against death as a 
single will defies the universe. She faces 
the Arctic winds. She sets her teeth, and 
for three days challenges hell. Out upon 
her leap the devils of Inferno. She stands 
fast. Calmly you sleep on — as calmly as 
the plant sleeps under the snow. 

Your muse calls heaven to help her — the 
saints — the cherubs — the seraphs — the an- 
gels — the arch-angels — God. She dares 
with her eyes the terrible glitter of the dog 
star. She shifts her gaze to the awful flash 
of Arcturus. She appeals to the majesty 
of Orion. She draws on the fires of the 
Pleiades. She summons the combined forces 
of Hercules. She faces all heaven. Her 
soul drinks at the firmament — and you 
sleep on. 

When the Sage of Athens drank the hem- 
lock his muse shuddered, but stood firm. 



78 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

When the heart of Christ broke, his muse 
wept, but lived on. When death meets you, 
your muse will conquer hell, and face the 
eternal fires. Fear not. 



OF THE HERMETICS 



NATURE'S JEST. 



Our whimsical old Mother Nature is ap- 
parently a great jester. So it would seem 
from the expression of her face, but beware! 
She may be more in earnest than you 
imagine. 

Madame Beauty stands before her mirror 
and weeps bitter tears as she drapes herself 
in rags, but Poverty, off in the corner, 
laughs and laughs. It is a pitiful picture, 
but not to Poverty, who laughs and laughs. 
Beauty might pose for Venus naked — but 
now ! Ha ! Ha ! How Poverty laughs ! 
There stands the idol of men in the sun- 
light, with hair that wreathes her round and 
round — magic hair ! so electric that a glint 
of fire is in it — perfumed hair ! Nature's 
own aroma ! 

But where is the jeweled barb with which 



80 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

to fasten it ? Beauty is too poor ! and Her 
eyes! Tears make them brighter as dew 
freshens the roses! Her white breast is but 
half covered — Alas ! the rags are rent where 
the skin is softest, where the cold strikes 
coldest. 

Poor Beauty! She is honest — no daub 
of rouge, nor puff of powder, nor roue's kiss 
has touched her, only the wind nipping at 
her ears, and her shoulders and her pink 
finger-tips. Her tears freeze in her dimples, 
she has forgotten to smile, but Poverty 
laughs — laughs till the wind is lost in her 
voice — laughs till the sound of the church 
bell is drowned — laughs till the city's roar 
is faint — and Beauty stares in her bit of 
glass, which is lit with the flash of her eyes. 

Is Nature playing a joke, or is she adjust- 
ing the scales ? 

Madame Ugliness sparkles with gems. 
They shine in her ears — gross ears that 
gather scandals and lies, as the pitcher plant 
gobbles the flies — they shine round her neck, 
gaunt like the arm of a sycamore tree — 
wrinkled and old — they shine in her hair 



OF THE HERMETICS 81 

where it clings to her head, as moss in 
patches sticks to a stone. They shine on 
her fingers, knotted like claws and destined 
to scratch — scratch. She is swathed in satin 
and silk as a mummy is swathed; bound and 
banded and draped till her cracking bones, 
and her shrunken flesh and her bosomless 
chest are rigid and stiff. 

She fears to gaze in the glittering lake, 
she dreads the mirror and shining pool, she 
shuns reflecting eyes. Wealth stands by 
and sneers — wealth, her consort, secretly 
sneers and jingles his money-bags. She is 
so ugly he covers her up with things of 
beauty, and sneers; he piles on more and 
more and sneers and sneers. 

But what of Nature — the Wise? Does 
she jest when she brings forth Beauty and 
sends her adrift with rags on her back, 
while hugging Ugliness close to her breast 
where the rich milk flows ? 

Ah! Beauty! thy rags but emphasize 
thee — the white of thine arms, the pose of 
thy limbs. Thine hair is thy robe. The 
sun is thy love. Thou holdest thy gla ss. 



82 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

But Ugliness — thou? Can Nature bal- 
ance the scale where beauty is weighed ? 
She loads on the silks, the satins, the furs ; 
she heaps on the rubies and gold, she piles 
in the diamonds, the emeralds, the pearls, 
and yet, even yet, Beauty is heavy, gold is a 
feather, the jewels a speck. And Nature, de- 
spairing, goes down to the sea, she dives for 
more jewels, and more, she digs into earth 
and brings up more treasure and more. She 
slaughters the beast and the bird, she tears 
off the hide and the plume, but Ugliness 
crouches, light as the skin of a fish, while 
Beauty outbalances all. 

Ah ! Nature ! you jest, unless time and 
causes long gone can be caught to weigh 
down things as they seem. 



OF THE HERMETICS 83 



YOUR FRIEND. 



Is he hateful today — think of tomorrow, 
remember last week. Is he scowling, recall 
his smile. Has his tongue twisted itself 
into harsh words — forget not the sweet ones 
you have caught from his lips. 

Do your friend justice. Place him on the 
scale of your own conjuring and weigh 
yourself with him. Perhaps after all he is 
heavier, a better man than you. When you 
judge another make two columns in your 
mind, the pros and cons. Reckon them up 
as you would a sum, and subtract one result 
from the other. If there is more good than 
bad — more that is delightful than repellant 
— more sweetness than gall , hold fast to him 
forever. You have found a jewel, one with 
a flaw to be sure, but a jewel. It is not 



84 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

paste nor pebble, but a gem. It will 
flash in a comparatively dark place, brighter 
than in the sunshine. Wear it on your 
breast, and look into the glass when the 
light is dim. But if the balance is against 
him, if the cons outweigh the pros, avoid 
him. He may shine for another, but not 
for you. By no amount of polishing can 
you make a diamond of him, or a ruby, or a 
pearl. Another may, but not you. 

Never let your heart deluge your head, 
when friendship comes your way. The head 
must be above tears and smiles — in clear 
cold air — where it can think. 

The heart is a fountain whose stream 
flows forever, warm and gushing. You can 
not stop it nor would you. But keep your 
head high, that you may see clearly, to turn 
the course of the waters where the flowers of 
friendship can best grow. It is better to 
overlook a field of ice with cold judging 
eyes, than to raise a crop of weeds in a soil 
watered by tears. 

Be just to your friend and you will deal 
squarely with yourself. Await his coming 



OF THE HERMETICS 85 

— It may be a long time ere he appears — 
You can afford it — wait. 

Jewels are not used for side- walks, nor 
stars for street-paving. You may find the 
pearl in the oyster you would eat, possibly 
at the retailers. Be sure it is a pearl before 
you set it. If it is precious conceal it, for 
there are thieves about. If it is luminous 
hide it, for it might dazzle some one else; 

Your friend is your own — not anothers-- 
in that which makes him yours ; otherwise 
go friendless, and live with the birds, the 
mountains and the sky. In nature some 
aspect of you is concealed, find that. 



86 SOME PHILOSOPHY 



THE ONE THING. 



Man wearies of everything save one. He 
plucks the flower he has striven after, in- 
hales its perfume and withers with it. 
Every thing tires him, even the most loved. 
When the flame goes out, he finds ashes — 
black and gray. No outer splendor holds 
his eye long. He turns wearily from the 
vale to the mountain, and again from the 
mountain to a star. In the face of the star 
he closes his eyes. He is tired, even of 
the smile of his loved friend. At times he 
would fly from it. He wearies of the days 
of his youth — He throws no kiss after them 
— He is glad they have gone — He wearies 
of his prime and seeks to escape it, into the 
easy chair of age. He wearies of old age, 
and of the old clothes which alone suit it. 
He makes his own coffin while yet alive. 
He drives the nails himself, and longs to lie 
down therein, even before he dies. He is 
tired — surfeited with everything. 



OF THE HER ME TICS 87 

This is the natural man, the man of 
rhythm. He rubs off the down from the 
peach and eats it — He wins a heart to 
trample it — All because he is tired. Be- 
cause the demon — change — has told but 
half his story, shutting its mouth in the 
midst of the tale. 

But the One Thing— What of the One 
Thing ? Is there somewhere a bird of para- 
dise whose feet never touch the earth ? Is 
there a gem that charms the eye to flash 
ever ? Is there a flower that excites one to 
ecstasy by its breath ? Is there a song that 
one sings always? Is there a land where 
the grass never withers ? Alas ! no. The 
One Thing is subtle and mighty — It dwells 
out of sight. No eye has beheld it nor ear 
heard its voice. Philosophy — Truth — fas- 
cinating as the Ideal, faithful as the Real, 
ready at all times every where to fit change 
to change — as the lapidary fits gem to gem 
— linking incident to incident, mood to 
mood, hour to hour, day to day, year to year 
with the goldsmith's art. Of IT— This 
power which ties and binds, holds and con- 



88 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

nects, fits and matches — you never weary. 
The mood may worry you, the day may ex- 
haust you, but the art to adapt and link 
them, is the Master Creative Art — the 
magic power, which if once you feel, will 
reveal the ONE THING . 

The charm of conquering, solving, blend- 
ing, combining, is the charm of God. It is 
the power which adapted Earth to the Sun 
and Venus to Mars. It is the potency 
which patterns the constellations and 
spangles the sky with starry designs. This 
master power of adjusting our moods and 
our hours one to another — this art of sway- 
ing to environment, has in its essence the 
charm of the new — The ecstasy of creation 
— This Art is the Philosopher's own. The 
normal man knows nothing of it — He is 
forever tired — but the Sage smiles at pros- 
perity, and goes with it, as man does with 
woman even to the precipice of adversity, 
where he smiles again and ties a knot — He 
has bound the two firmly like husband and 
wife, and he blesses them both. The Phil- 
osopher bares his head to the gale and lets 



OF THE HER ME TICS 89 

the wind's sharp fingers tear at his blowing 
hair — He suffers the knives of ice to prick 
to his bones — He tests himself on the grind- 
stone of fate — and finds the new. 

Each morn a new sun peers over the bor- 
ders of dawn — Each eve a new splendor 
melts into the bosom of the night — Each 
day is a virgin immaculate, who conceives 
and gives birth to a Christ. A mystery 
appalling, but sweet, challenges the Wise 
with each fresh beat of his heart, for to him 
is given the One Thing — the power to 
Create. 

All other men tire. They sicken with 
the stench of the old, the fetid, the stale. 
They shrink from the same dull colors and 
shapes — the picture comes back at each turn 
of the wheel — the same. They start at 
familiar sounds, the shriek of the whistle, 
the roll of the drum — the same from cradle 
to grave — the same — But the Sage ! He 
touches the old — A Philosopher's touch - 
as soft as the falling of snow — the kiss of a 
friend — and lo ! the new . 



9 o SOME PHILOSOPHY 



THE DEVIL. 



He is out of fashion. He went off the 
stage with Jonathan Edwards and men of 
his cult. The masters of the " new 
theology '' have not fist enough to shake at 
his phantom, so they deny him. They stand 
in their pulpits and preach goodness, love, 
music, flowers, paradise. They believe in 
an eternal heaven of splendors without the 
i( great white throne." They have banished 
the angels and the harps, and they give you 
Nature (when she smiles). The storms they 
ignore. When the wind blows they become 
as deaf as stones — They hear nothing. 
When it is cold, they sit over their church 
furnaces and declare it is warm. They are 



OF THE HERMETICS 91 

as one-sided as the moon. If they have 
another face, they conceal it. This is 
" namby-pamby.'' It is gush. 

We face facts. We believe that every- 
thing has two sides. If there is an up, 
there is a down. If there is a white, there 
is a black. We know very well that lilies 
thrive in mud, and roses in decay. We have 
seen the cat eat the mouse and the dog kill 
the cat. Insects destroy trees, and elephants 
tread on worms. We are also aware that 
man builds his ladder to fame out of dead 
bodies, and climbs to the stars to the tune 
of dying shrieks. The sea fish gorge them- 
selves with one another, the air fiends in the 
shape of birds dive out of heaven after 
helpless victims. 

You may call the Devil by whatever name 
you choose, evil is a fact or good could not 
be. We believe in the Pairs — the Paral- 
lels. Life and death go arm in arm. Pain 
and pleasure are close linked. Heaven is 
on the verge of hell. God implies the 
Devil. We believe he takes a thousand 
forms, a million, a billion. He is not con- 



92 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

fined to hoofs and claws. Like that of Good 
his coat is " many-colored." 

We have told you to practice. We have 
spoken emphatically, and you ask with 
reason—" On what ? " On the Devil. He 
is the best muscle developer known. He 
can put you through a regular course. He 
will teach you to aim a straight blow and 
hit between the eyes. To be sure you will 
be knocked down over and over again, but 
get up. To lie and groan is to give him a 
chance. You must be quick, as quick as he 
is. You will grow as strong as a Greek 
athlete, and be ready for the ring on all 
occasions. He does you a good turn in giv- 
ing you the chance. In time you will glory 
in your own strength as a young man does. 
In fact the Devil is mightily afraid of the 
Philosopher, he prefers the nervous man, 
one who loses his head. 

Philosophy is the " bete noire" of the 
Arch Fiend. He fears naught else than 
that. There is a smile on the Sage's lip 
that makes his majesty shrivel. There is a 
steadiness in the wise man's eye that galls 



OF THE HER ME TICS 93 

even the Devil. He is sarcastic, but the 
Philosopher is more so — and when the fire 
fights fire, you know the outcome. 

So then we accept him, as we do the other 
side of heaven, for the inner implies the 
outer — The height the depth. 



94 SOME PHILOSOPHY 



THE PAIRS. 



One's illusions vanish one after another ; 
what today we deem real tomorrow will be a 
dream. We are building day after day upon 
the shifting sand, and the tide comes up and 
washes the shining bits away. Hopes 
fondly cherished break like bubbles or drown 
our hearts in tears. 

By and by our eyes will be dry, no tears 
will come, and we will stare dimly and 
straight ahead into vacancy, to see nothing, 
not even an illusion. Then upon all men 
we will smile a ghastly smile, hoping for, 
believing in, wanting nothing. At this 
point we reverse and look in. Something 
appears, some one, and that appearance, that 
one makes the illusion plain. This appear- 



OF THE HER ME TICS 95 

ance which looks into our eyes is the Real, 
the everlasting mate of the Unreal. 

Had you not dreamed — Had you not suf- 
fered — Had you not sobbed on your pillow 
at night alone — alone — Had you not longed 
and longed when the stars came out — Had 
you not begged the grass-blades to speak to 
you, and the leaves to whisper to you — Had 
you not looked on the back of your friend 
whose eyes were turned elsewhere — Had the 
sky not rained on you, and the sea sought 
to clutch you — Had the mirage not come 
nor the dim island faded, the Real would 
have failed. 

Mortal man goes on and on, plodding and 
plodding ; he eats, he drinks, he sleeps, 
alas! he does not dream. His wife makes 
his bed and his bread. The beasts in his 
yard are his kin. He dies. No castle ever 
faded out of his sky. No bird with fire-tinted 
wing flew over his head ; and the Real — 
the face he has failed to see. 

When you have drank the wine down to 
the dregs — When the golden bowl breaks — 
When love flies off to the moon — When 



SOME PHILOSOPHY 



the blood congeals and will not flow, and 
Beauty flaunts her hair in your face, look in. 

The bank must need follow the fickle 
river, the inconstant river, but on the bank 
the water-rushes grow. Ah ! the meander- 
ing stream. Ah ! the constant shore and 
the water-rushes. When drowning in the 
cruel river, forget not the shore and the 
faithful reeds. Wet and dripping you seek 
refuge deep within the rushes — deep within 
the rushes. 

Drenched in the fog of illusion you rush 
inland and look into a pair of faithful 
eyes. I have brushed the cob-webs from 
mine forever, the spider's web, and now I see 
straight to the heart of a star. But to my 
friend I am a mystery. Now and again he 
hates me, and yet he loves me too. He 
turns here and there for something better ; 
he tries to go ; he lies to himself, but he 
comes back. 

Look well to the opposites. The Pairs 
are faithful. The dream, the illusion, is the 
other half of the Real. It shimmers like 
the light on the sea — It goes and comes like 



OF THE HERMETICS 97 

the moon — It lives and dies like ripe corn, 
but the arc of heaven which Iris bears in 
her hands, overshadows her never. Iris 
still brings news from heaven and tells the 
tale of Zeus. 



98 SOME PHILOSOPHY 



ADONAI. 



To invoke Adonai is to call upon that in 
your universe of consciousness which is 
akin to the ecstasy of love, by no means a 
physical, but a purely spiritual emotion. 
You call out of yourself, into your conscious- 
ness, the charm and holy glamour of being. 
You throw yourself, by an effort of will, into 
a state where soul is manifested in its 
beauty, as the flowers display the sex-charm 
of plants. You call up from the depths of 
soul its melody, for soul in its most gracious 
form is music, the singing as it were of the 
bird to its mate. 

To invoke Adonai is to enter the world of 
variety where habit is abandoned, drudgery 
forgotten, and conventionality is no more. 
All things common are hid from view. It 
is the world of form, of sound, of languor, 
and of dream. It is the world of haze and 






OF THE HER ME TICS 99 

splendor — the illumined — the shadowy. 
Here time ceases, the past melts away, the 
future is unforeshadowed. 

You ask, "Is Adonai a spirit, a Being? " 
We answer, there is a Being, there are 
Beings who revel in this Paradise, who 
hear these sounds and see these sights 
— Beings who dwell forever in a dim glory 
softened by a veil such as fell over Isis — 
Beings whose sight is clouded by tears 
of rapture, more entranced than those who 
smile — Beings who hear voices echoing back 
and forth along the spaces of Heaven — 
Beings who see tender colors when their 
eyes are closed, and one of them the Mystics 
call Adonai. 

Life that throes and throes till each throb 
sings — Life born out of continence till every 
nerve is thrilling with its own identity, is 
the spell which Adonai weaves upon him- 
self till he twines his form in rainbows and 
flashes light from his deep eyes, even as the 
sun throws flame. 

Adonis kissed too much by Venus drags 
his wings — Adonis free soars upward. 



ioo SOME PHILOSOPHY 

" Can we " you ask, " Can we as Mystics 
invoke Adonai ? " We answer, unless you 
do, you are doomed to see, to face and 
struggle with the common place. Crude 
ugliness will strike you hour after hour 
hard blows — The soul of things will be 
hid, and only the half of every story 
will be told — Your nostrils will be greeted 
by bad smells — Your eyes with ugly sights 
— Your ears will hear revolting sounds — 
The barren wash-day grayness of the world 
will stare you in the face — Your friends will 
unveil all their petty faults, the very 
pimples on their foreheads will stand out — 
The great beyond in them will be boxed up 
in illshaped skulls — Their tongues will say 
rough things and lap coarse food — Or din- 
ary, all ordinary. 

You have no power to discern what 
they have brought to you, what they yet 
will bring — You measure but the size 
of their shoes, and count the spots ou their 
clothes — You have no gift for looking back 
nor seeing far ahead — You are marching in 
the ranks where grease and oil besmirch the 



OF THE HERMETICS 



hands of artisans — You smell of lumber, of 
fresh fish and blood — You toil till sweat 
soaks through your clothes, and gazing up 
you think it rains. 

Your mother is a woman who breeds and 
nurses young — Your father is a man who 
gloats and drinks — Your brothers kill live 
things, and laugh — Your sisters stuff rag 
dolls — Your wife courts your stomach — 
And gnats and insects suck your blood. 
You have no heaven nor hell. You serve 
the common place. 

But lo ! how this doth change when you 
besiege the pearly gates of your own heart, 
and to the half truth add the other half. 
Does he come in the sunlight of morning or 
the sunlight of evening — It matters not. 
Does he look down from the zenith or up 
from the depths — What difference? Does 
he appear without or within — Who cares ? 
He is Adonai the Beautiful ! With him 
you get the full meaning — the illumination 
— the glory. When you see him, your feet 
scorn the earth — When you hear him, you 
answer back. 



102 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

Venus adores and yet fears Him, for lie 
scatters light as lie moves, and the flashes 
heat and thrill you. His countenance 
beams even though veiled, and his eyes 
pierce and transfix you. All things seen 
through the mist of him are beautiful. 
Beside each leaf on the tree is another like 
silver, which the sun turns to gold. 

To invoke Adonai is not always to bring 
him. Oft times he is taken by force like 
the kingdom of heaven. If he will not come 
by your wooing, plunge down in yourself 
and drag him out of the depths, for he may 
be asleep. 

Beware of the common place. Better 
look into heaven one moment and down into 
hell the next, than to set your house in 
strict order, starch up your linen, and eat 
for the palate. 

Beware of the common place — That 
mood where you yawn and stretch, and hunt 
out your aches and pains as old people do, 
who gloat over sores and decay. Beware of 
scavengers, buzzards and flies. 



OF 1HE HERMETICS 103 



MAGIC. 

You may follow Christianity to the yawn- 
ing grave, you may suck the breast of 
Buddhism dry, and yet miss Magic — an 
Aphrodite poising on the foam of the sea. 

The magician can subtract glamour 
from the heart of things ; he can manipu- 
late combinations — he can balance on foam. 
Out of himself comes a magnetism which 
envelops and transforms environment. As 
love turns hell into heaven, so the magician 
plays at his art. 

Nature covers the woman's skeleton with 
voluptuous curves of flesh — She spreads a 
pond of slime with water-lilies — She bids 
exquisite ferns to peep from ghastly crevices 
— She paints the sky at the brink of the 
desert — sometimes — when the mood is on 



104 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

her — sometimes. She touches up the vul- 
ture in the empyrean, till he has the majesty 
of a heaven sent messenger — She glitters in 
the purity of the gull till he rivals a white- 
throated angel — On winter she breathes, and 
brings hot splendor out of snow and fire out 
of ice. 

Magic never goes naked — She is as real 
as the soul of woman, but she drapes herself 
as did Isis. Her eyes look at you through 
the veil of her hair — her limbs gleam but 
from the meshes of a net — She has the art 
of the spider ; she catches and holds, but 
unlike it she never devours you. 

Her food is the pollen of flowers, her drink 
is the dew on their breasts. 

Truth is truth, but she is sometimes non- 
commital. Whatever she bestows is one 
aspect of her — not all. Veiled in glamour 
she gives you her smile, and bewitches, 
tantalizes, lures, and bewilders. Her form 
is clear-cut and awful, like the scars on the 
brow of Olympus, but her smile is myriad 
and seen through a veil. 

Mystery and Magic are some way related. 



OF THE HERMETICS 105 

The half known transfixes yon — its spell 
pierces you, like the glance of a wise man's 
eyes. The mystery of the moon is in Magic 
— The side which you wonder about is the 
half that charms. If the satellite turned, 
Love's dream would vanish. 

We hear strange rumors of Adepts in 
Thibet and the fakirs in India. We have 
read fairy tales about the miracles of Christ, 
and the wonder working of Mahomet. We 
are familiar with the account of the birth of 
Gautama, and the magic of Moses. In the 
face of it all we would tell you, that this is 
as the blowing of a soap bubble compared 
with the mystery of the seed or the passion 
of the plant. 

Nature is a hypnotist and a magician. 
She arrests the busy man in his round of 
work, and holds him spell-bound before a 
growing grass blade — She stops the devotee 
of science on his road to fame, and bewitches 
him with the remains of a mastodon — She 
glitters in the scalpel of the surgeon, and 
flashes on the edge of the dissecting knife — 
She rouges the consumptive's cheek, and 



106 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

tantalizes Esculapius with microbes — She 
tempts the diver to risk the jaws of the 
shark, and tnrns the ills of the oyster into 
pearls — She foils the explorer with her 
North Pole, and entices the aeronaut to a 
pitiful rivalry with the chick-a-dee. 

The poet is her victim par excellence. 
He sees things through the mist of his own 
eyes — a trait from nature by the terrible law 
of heredity. He is eternally hypnotized and 
walks about in a dream. Nature's spell is 
on him from birth to death, and he, as her 
true child, shines by his own light. He is 
not a planet but a lesser sun, that warms 
itself at its own fire. He generates heat and 
radiates it from his eyes and fingers. Cold 
people sit at his feet, as beggars lie out in 
the light. The rabble follow him as the 
poor followed Christ. They touch his skirts 
and warm their bodies in electric heat. Like 
the magician of India, he draws an ignorant 
crowd, who know nothing except that he is 
warm. Each word of his is a spark, which 
sets something on fire. He is rich with 
smiles, that tickle the half-dead nerves, and 



OF THE HERMETICS 107 

metaphors that shock the heart to renewed 
life. He moves in a glory like the column 
of fire, and he casts a shadow like the fallen 
cloud. He is Ariel captured by Earth. He 
is a god wedded to woman. 

But what of Venus Urania, who makes 
matches in heaven, and kindles her heart 
at the shrine of Vesta. What of the love 
that blends souls rather than bodies, and 
creates her children in celestial spaces on 
the down pillows of ether ? What of the 
splendor of Eden, when the gods walked in 
the garden, and the serpent lay hid in the 
glitter of his own skin ? Even yet magic 
eyes sweep the horizon, where the sky lies 
softly on the breast of the sea. Even yet, 
on the altar of Vesta, burn the sacred fires. 
Even yet, the loves of paradise hold the sun 
in its place — and the moon. 

Would you know the art of Magic? 
Would you discover the magician in your- 
self and wake him out of sleep ? Retire 
within, far back, away from things seen by 
the natural eye ; and the long-lashed lids 
of a spirit's orbs will unloose — when, lo ! 



108 SOME PHILOSOPHY 

the land of dream ! the realm of memories 
stored by the ages in you. But look — still 
farther back, to the magic region of ice and 
storm and snow, when the world, like a cold 
corpse, lay wrapt in her icy shroud — you, 
you were there. Or into those tropic regions 
where strange plants grew, watered by mists, 
heated by a seething immensity of sun — 
you were there. Or, if your eyes weary 
with wonder, and the fringed lids drop, 
listen ! Hark with the ears of a spirit 
— backward — down the aeons of time. Listen 
to the crashing of the avalanches of the 
terrible ice period, when chaos roared as the 
captain shouts in a storm at sea. Listen to 
the strange note of a long-lost bird that 
lived in the days of a terrible sun. Listen 
to the voice which spoke to you, ere Christ 
traveled the banks of the Galilee, or Caesar 
mastered the spirit of Rome. // is speak- 
ing still. 

Magic ! ! Away with the fakir fraud, who 
gives you a lie for a paradox — while truth is 
truth. Away with the mummery of a false 
act and a sham occultism — while the Phil- 



OF THE HERMETICS 109 

osopher's stone exists. Away with the 
devil's cauldron or the craft of priests — 
while the great laboratory of nature, manipu- 
lated by the witches of science, is seething 
with the heat of divine alchemy. 

Would you be a magician, stir up the 
smoldering coals at your own fireside. 
Begin to burn. Feel your blood hot in your 
veins. Warm yourself with memories of 
sun-tinted dreams. Pray — pray — $ray at 
the shrine of the Sphinx. 



